Nobody's Home
by Hekate101
Summary: AU seventh year oneshot. Partially HBP compliant. "She couldn’t say that she was empty inside. She couldn’t say how much it hurt. She couldn’t say that it would be impossible to go on like nothing had happened."


Nobody's Home

By Hekate101

Disclaimer: You probably won't believe it, but aside from maybe two dozen proper nouns and the italicized bits, it's mine.

A/N: I've got no explanation, just a story. Just words that I hope you'll accept.

A/N [2: When I first posted this, I wasn't paying much attention to what I had written. After weeks spent obsessing, I was finally done, and I just wanted to purge it; my passion had all leaked away. Now, nearly all of this is the same, but I fixed one or two blatant (to me, anyway) errors, and added another hundred-or-so words that should have been in the original but had been accidentally left out. Also, the next one is the proper author's note this insanity never got.

A/N [3: This is strange. This is manic. Personally, I think it's sometimes funny and sometimes it sends shivers down my spine. The ending is odd, and reading back over it, there seems to be a H/Hr undertone. If that makes you want to click the back button, please wait. H/Hr is actually one of only two ships that I can't stand, so that scene was certainly not written with that (or, actually, _any_) ship in mind. That's simply how it reads in hindsight and it's too integral a part of the plot for me to mess with it. Anyway, if you're still around, let's adventure onward and please stay off the bunnies unless you've got a holy hand grenade.

---

Gryffindor common room. Small body curled up on the couch, face not visible. Brown hair in disarray. A redhead glances toward the girl, worried. A few seconds later, another head turns, then turns back; black hair this time. Neither know what to say or do. Over the hour, most of the room has taken a peek at her. They try to avoid others when doing so. Two girls' eyes meet, and both quickly look away.

_I couldn't tell you why she felt that way,_

GINNY

"Hermione," she murmured. The older girl hadn't moved in a while, and she had an irrational fear that somehow her watchful eye hadn't been watchful enough, and that Hermione was gone. That she was dead. Or missing, which was almost worse nowadays.

_  
She felt it everyday._

HERMIONE

She didn't do much. Laid around, cried. Her eyes seemed to always be red when she looked in the mirror. When she let herself look in the mirror. She didn't do that much; she saw _them_ in her face. In her hair. In the slant of her shoulders, the curve of her back. She tried to slouch, but then she was just reminded of the night Dad had tripped over the top step on the way to the door and banged his head. He always prided himself on having good posture, but he'd slouched in his chair while her mum had gone to find a cold compress. Hermione would have just healed it, but they weren't allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts. So she sat, and stared into space, and didn't sleep, and cried.

_  
And I couldn't help her,_

RON

"Hermione," he beseeched. She hadn't been to classes in the week since she had gotten the news. The teachers were refusing to enter zeros, but McGonagall had quietly asked after class how she was doing, and he knew that meant she was worried. Maybe it would be better for her if she were kept busy with schoolwork.

_  
I just watched her make the same mistakes again._

HERMIONE

"No," she said quietly, with an almost imperceptible shake of the head. She couldn't say more. She couldn't say that she was empty inside. She couldn't say how much it hurt. She couldn't say that it would be impossible to go on like nothing had happened. But he seemed to understand, and she laid back down, new tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

_  
What's wrong, what's wrong now?_

LAVENDER

"Hermione," she appealed. It was too quiet in the dorm room now. Hermione had never actually spoken when they were giggling on Parvati's bed over the latest issue of Witch Weekly, but now the issues were stacking up on Lavender's end table. It wasn't right, somehow, without a quill scratching in the background, without any tuts of disapproval when Parvati read something particularly stunning aloud in an incredulous voice. Without the rustle of pages, or gentle humming. Now whenever they started to laugh, or joke, they would glance at the other four-poster's emptiness, made even more obvious by the undrawn hangings, and stop abruptly. Hermione never left the hangings open; she valued her privacy, even when she wasn't in the room and their beds looked exactly the same. Now she didn't bother to close them, even when she _did_ venture up from the common room for sleep.

_  
Too many, too many problems._

HERMIONE

McGonagall wanted her to go to classes. She wanted her to act like a Head Girl should. She wanted her to sleep in her dorm bed more than once a week. She wanted her to care that Dumbledore was dead, and that Voldemort was loose. But she wouldn't give her zeros, or take away the position, or give her detention, or talk to her. Everyone knew Hermione would help them with anything they needed, from Potions essays to contraceptive charms, but now… Now no-one knew anything.

_  
Don't know where she belongs, where she belongs._

DEAN

"Hermione," he entreated. Mum's sister had moved to America years ago, and Mum had always ranted about her becoming a Yank. But now Britain wasn't safe, and the entire family, minus Dean, had gone to stay with her. They had killed Hermione's parents because she was Muggle-born, and because she was Harry's friend. Dean wasn't nearly as close, but he could feel the fear. Sometimes it got too strong, and he went to Professor Lupin, who would Floo to New York and bring the whole lot of them back, to give Dean a few moments to hold those warm bodies, feel the heartbeats, and know the people he loved were still alive. But it only made it more painful the next time he walked into the common room and saw a familiar face crouched on the floor by Hermione's sofa, quietly talking to the back of her head, trying to get her to open up, or at least _do_ something. So he would go up to the dorm, sit on his bed with the hangings closed, and cry, knowing that he would be feeling that same horrible mixture of relief and guilt next time. 

_  
She wants to go home, but nobody's home._

HERMIONE

She was always crying nowadays. Thick sobs sometimes, when she remembered something particularly horrible, like the fact that her Dad always mixed whiskey with his tea the week before Christmas to help him cope with the chaos, and how he thought she didn't know. Just a few tears sometimes, when she realised that she had been biting her nails, and how she hadn't done that since her Mum had explained to her, very carefully, that biting your nails damaged your teeth and you want beautiful teeth, don't you, Hermione? She cried until the bags under her eyes were red and puffy and raw from being rubbed. She cried until she made her middle knuckle bleed from biting it to keep the moans of loss down. She cried until her eyes looked glassy and Harry asked if she'd been drinking, and she just shook her head miserably, because it was 9 October, and that was her parents' wedding anniversary. They always celebrated it by uncorking a bottle of red wine, then steak au poivre, with a green salad and buttered squash – the same meal that had been served at their wedding, and what they each said was their favourite, though everyone knew Dad's was really lasagna and garlic French bread, and Mum's was sweet and sour chicken with fried rice. But despite the little, obvious lies, they looked forward to this night for weeks, because they'd stay in, and talk about their life, and how wonderful it was to be another year together. And Hermione knew that would never happen again. So she cried.

_  
That's where she lies, broken inside._

HARRY

"Hermione," he tried. He had thought it was bad when Dumbledore died, and the world was crushed. He had been angry, furious – not shocked, like Sirius's death, because the shock was over. Fury was easier. He could hate Snape and Malfoy. Not now, though. He had only met the Grangers once. He shouldn't mourn them much. Yet he had been hushed and worried for a month now. He had been skirting around the topic, on edge since Hermione shut down. She hardly ate, even when he knew she must be ravenous. She would look at the food, and fade away, and he knew from Ginny that she must be remembering her father, who had apparently been a wonderful cook. She lay there, like the living dead, and it was worse, much worse than Dumbledore's death. In killing the Grangers, Voldemort hadn't killed a pair of dentists that Harry had heard a few stories about but didn't know personally. They weren't like the Potters, who left one young son who hardly remembered them. They weren't like the Weasleys, who would leave seven children that could hold onto each other for support. They had been good, honest, intelligent people, but they weren't who Voldemort had killed. In killing the Grangers, Voldemort had killed Harry's friend.

_With no place to go_

HERMIONE

McGonagall had told her if she didn't start showing up to class that Friday afternoon, she would have her Head Girl position revoked. Hermione hadn't shown up to the meeting the older woman had requested, and so, laying on her couch as always, McGonagall looking down at her, prim and proper as always, as she said, "So?" And that was that. A few more words had been spoken, in a hushed voice, by McGonagall, but they didn't matter. They were the same words Harry had said a month ago. The same words Ron had said a month and a half ago, then repeated two weeks ago. The same words later repeated by most of her yearmates. The same words Ginny had said a week after she had found out. The same words Ginny repeated every Friday, with varying degrees of emotion. The same words she had said that morning, holding her Charms book under her arm like every Friday, before she left for class. It was the only way that Hermione knew what day it was.

_No place to go, to dry her eyes._

MCGONAGALL

"Hermione," she pressed. She hadn't wanted to do it. She hadn't wanted to punish her favourite, though of course she wasn't supposed to have favourites. Professors, and especially headmistresses, were supposed to be impartial. But Hermione Granger was the sort of girl one couldn't help but become attached to. Which was why this hurt so much. "Hermione," she said, crouched down on the scarlet carpet, "you _will_ come to classes tomorrow." It had taken a long Friday night of bewilderment and an even longer Saturday spent finding the words, to realise that what Hermione needed was obviously not the same thing she had been getting for the past seven weeks from the Gryffindors. "Or you will be on the Hogwarts Express going home tomorrow." She kept her gaze steady and her face impartial ("Impartial. Headmistresses are impartial," she told herself.), though she could feel her heart breaking.

_Broken inside_

HERMIONE

Send her home. McGonagall was threatening to send her home. She almost laughed at that, but she found herself crying instead. What was the point of going home? What would she go home to? Her parents were dead. Any friends she had had in the Muggle world had long since forgotten her. Her parents were dead. She closed her eyes, but the tears still flowed. And they still flowed the next morning, when Ginny woke her and cast "Scourgify" on her, to get rid of the worst of the smell, and cleaned her face, and dressed her, and pulled her down to the Great Hall. Apparently her friends cared more about her going to classes than she did. But behind her tears, her eyes were blank, and she let them drag her along.

_  
Open your eyes and look outside, find the reasons why._

ERNIE

"Hermione," he pleaded. He hadn't thought anything could be worse than the rumours and the empty seat across the aisle, but it was obvious now that he'd been wrong. This empty person filling that seat was worse. Much worse. She never looked at Professor Vector, never did any work, and in general, didn't act at all like Hermione. Professor Vector could hardly teach, and some days would simply write a page number on the board, sit at her own desk, and pretend to grade papers, her own eyes shining with unspilled tears, her own lips bitten to hold back sobs as she watched Hermione the same way everyone watched Hermione nowadays. Apparently unaware of the stares, she would stare at the wood in front of her as if it were a conduit for her parent's spirits, and cry. Large droplets would stick to her eyelashes, spill over her eyelids, roll down her cheeks, catch along her jaw, and eventually splatter on the desktop with an almost nonexistent sound that made the students jump every time it echoed through the silent room. No-one would dare speak when Hermione was in a room, or make mention to her when she wasn't, but it was all anyone could think about. Some days he would get a half-finished assignment back with an 'O' on it in Professor Vector's loopy handwriting, and spend the rest of the class watching Hermione, silently pleading for her to look up, to become normal again.

_  
You've been rejected, and now you can't find what you left behind._

HERMIONE

If only they would just let her be. But no, every day it was the same. Like some sort of invalid, Ginny would cast "Scourgify" and dress her, then meet Ron and Harry in the common room, where she would be dragged down to breakfast and spoon-fed oatmeal or force-fed eggs and toast, then pulled along to Defense, or Potions, or Charms or Arithmancy, depending on the day. If it was Monday, Ron, Harry, Neville, Luna and Ginny (who both had Divination and by some miracle managed to keep from being late) would walk her to Charms. If it was Tuesday or Wednesday, it would be Padma and Harry and Ron and Luna (who had History of Magic on the same floor on Tuesdays, and free mornings Wednesdays) that provided her entourage. If it was Thursday, it would be Harry, Ernie, Lavender, Parvati, and Blaise Zabini that would quietly escort her to the dungeons. She wasn't sure why Blaise walked with them, but one day he had been there, and since then, he'd always gone along. If it was a Friday, then Ernie and Padma and Blaise would add their footsteps to the other echoes that seemed to always surround her.

_  
Be strong, be strong now._

BLAISE

"Hermione," he susurrated. Like many children of Dark parents, he had lost family to Voldemort. His older half-brother had been too smart to join the snake-faced bastard, and had died at his own mother's hand for it. Blaise had been fifteen, and he remembered having to hide his feelings. Like a good little Slytherin, he had created lies, deceptions, and masks. To survive, he had pretended to be a supporter of his mother's Master. Until Voldemort had unwittingly killed Hogwarts' heart and no-one needed to pretend any longer. Even those like Blaise, who detested Harry Potter and his goody-two-shoes-ness, respected Hermione Granger and her willingness to accept and help everyone. In fifth year, she had started a tutor group for Slytherins and swore to tell no-one. She had been a terrific teacher, and Blaise had passed his Transfiguration final because of her. And even now, no-one outside the Slytherin dorm had any clue about those secret meetings. So two days after she'd started going back to classes, Blaise had joined the little Gryffindor posse that walked Hermione to each class. Even if they didn't understand why, somehow it seemed that the group knew he was doing this for Hermione, and accepted that. Privately, he knew that no matter her mental status, Hermione deserved that little bit of silent loyalty.

_Too many, too many problems._

HERMIONE

It was emptiness, was all. It was darkness everywhere, and slippery slopes iced over. It was precarious, but she wasn't afraid of the danger, then. Now…now it was padded rooms and locked doors and soft pillows lining the slide. She still was not afraid of falling, but now she felt sick, like she'd eaten too much sugar but of course that wasn't it, because Ginny was always trying to shove food down her throat but none of it was ever sweet. Probably she thought it would be too difficult. She felt cloistered, stuffed into a tiny box and checked on once a day. She had had a hermit crab, in primary school. It had died after two weeks, like most small children's pets, but she wondered if this was how it had felt, for those two weeks. If so, she thought, in the end, it was the lucky one.

_Don't know where she belongs, where she belongs._

NEVILLE

"Hermione," he sighed. She had been in the Common Room again this morning. The first few mornings, Parvati would wake up, see that she wasn't in bed, and run to the sixth-year dorms to tell Ginny, who would run to the boys' dorms screaming that Hermione had been kidnapped, which of course would wake Hermione (along with the rest of Gryffindor Tower), who would sit up blearily and rasp, "I'm right here". It had been three days before Parvati began checking first in the common room (mornings weren't her best) and three weeks before Ginny realised telling Hermione to go up when she got tired didn't work (late nights weren't hers). Now Lavender would drag Hermione up when she went to sleep, and watch her into bed before laying down herself. He was sure of two things, though. First, that Hermione would do what she wished regardless, and that the look on Parvati Patil's face when Ron ran out of the dorm wearing only a pair of orange plaid boxers, holding his wand aloft, yelling, "Whattizit? Whattizit?" was utterly and completely priceless.

_That's where she lies, broken inside._

HERMIONE

She pulled off her trainers and set them next to the fire before tiptoeing up the stairs. The jumper she wore did nothing for the frigid air and she liked it that way, but she had finally acceded and stuck her feet into the shoes before going out. They hadn't been much protection against the snow, either, but if she'd come back with frostbite, all of Gryffindor house would know she'd been outside, and Madam Pomphrey would finally have reason to drag her to the Hospital Wing and never let her be. All for sneaking out once, when really she had no other choice. She had to be alone, and Ginny had spelled her couch to sing a Christmas carol at one-hundred twenty decibels if someone sat in it after ten. Why they were insisting she slept in the dorm room, she didn't know. As if it mattered to them. Next they would be telling her to do her homework, and begin talking. To eat more, and on her own. God, if only McGonagall hadn't… No, she couldn't start the "If only…"s. She would inevitably end with "If only they…" No. No. She bit her lip and laid down on the bed; the pillow conscientiously absorbed her tears.

_With no place to go_

PARVATI

"Hermione," she wondered. What was to become of the Gryffindor house without their bushy-haired tower of strength? How were they supposed to support themselves when their support had been torn from beneath them? Like any frightened group, they huddled together, for hope, for comfort; nevermind that the surrounding walls were on fire if they had each other. The thing about that mindset was that it only worked until the flames began to lick at your skin. Watching Hermione being fed like an invalid every morning…she could feel the heat already.

_No place to go, to dry her eyes._

HERMIONE

No-one really looked at her, except Dean, every once in a while, and he had such a horrible sheen in his eyes – a horrible, gut-wrenching, painful sheen – and he looked away so quickly that she fancied forgetting it. Lavender would go up to the dorm to read or do homework or something yet come back only a few moments later, papers in hand, and Hermione could feel her icy hot gaze on the back of her sofa – not on her, but the _sofa_, as if it had somehow, inconceivably, wronged the blond girl. After a few weeks people had stopped staring in the Great Hall when Ginny quietly urged her to eat or Neville, nice, calm, Neville, silently spoon-fed her oatmeal when the bony protuberances of her ribcage began to frighten him. But she didn't care, she thought, as the whole common room jumped when an owl pecked on the window (the sharp noise shattering the silence) so why did they?

_Broken inside._

SEAMUS

"Hermione," he attempted. It had been thirteen weeks like this. Ninety-one little black Xs on the organizational calendar Hermione had given him last Christmas. His hand shook as he crossed out "25 December – Christmas". Unbidden, his gaze shifted one block over, where the X couldn't quite cover the words, "24 December – Christmas Eve. _Send presents to Hogwarts!_" He hadn't sent any presents yesterday. He hadn't gone home this year, none of the Gryffindor seventh-years had. In fact, though he wasn't sure, he didn't think that _any_ seventh years had. Yesterday, and the entire past week, had been awfully awkward. Nearly every student above third year, and quite a few below, had come up to Gryffindor tower or accosted one of the seventh years in the hallways, to give Hermione a present. The most amusing incident had been when Colin Creevey came back from classes with his arms loaded down with red-and-green-wrapped packages, gibbering about being attacked by Slytherins. After a bit of clarification, it was revealed that Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, Bulstrode, Nott, and Parkinson had stumbled upon him and simply made him into a tool for their purposes. The green skin and silver freckles had been a bit much, though.

_She wants to go home, but nobody's home._

HERMIONE

They lay around her, like glittering, palpable, pain. Memories of past Christmases, with hot cocoa and pajamas and a tree with little round ornaments and pictures of Hermione as a baby. Ham and potatoes, cranberry sauce and pudding, corn and broccoli… Dad would cook it all on Christmas Eve while Hermione and her mum arranged the ornaments on the tree. On Christmas Day they would eat leftovers and her parents would trade gifts while Hermione reverted to childhood, ripping open paper and tearing off bows. Once the festivities were over, they would all lounge about, talking and eating and enjoying their presents. Then they would smile and dress and put their things away and say, "Until next year." …Until never again.

_Her feelings she hides._

LUNA

"Hermione," she explained. The younger Ravenclaws hadn't understood why she was always gone, always rushing off and hurrying to classes and working long into the night on spells and defensive maneuvers. She had told them it was for the Gryffindor girl and they still didn't get it. "She asked you to?" they wondered. "I thought she wasn't talking." "No, I heard she's talking, but only in Russian." Luna laughed. "No, she didn't ask me to." She smiled nostalgically and began to gather her things. "Well, how do you know you're doing what she wants, then?" one second-year asked. Luna turned back, and checked her watch. She had a meeting in four minutes. "We're killing Voldemort," she said quietly. "I think that's what everyone wants."

_  
Her dreams she can't find._

HERMIONE

It was nearly six in the evening, according to the clock on the wall. It wasn't cool enough for a fire, so Hermione had been watching the hands go around…around…when the second hand made sixty revolutions, it would "dong…dong" once more than the time before, and it was perfect. When the minute and second hand were perfectly vertical, the hour hand pointed exactly at the number, and not until. It had to be magical, she thought; it was perfect. And at five-forty-seven-and-eighteen-seconds, the Gryffindor portrait hole opened and Padma Patil and Luna Lovegood hurried in. They were flushed, and they rushed toward the corner where Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Neville were sitting.

_  
She's losing her mind._

MILLICENT

"Hermione," she called. Of course Hermione didn't turn around, but her friends did, and she _did_ stop. Perhaps she wasn't as catatonic as they all said. She addressed the friends first, though she knew the entire Great Hall was staring at her. "I need to talk to Hermione." Harry Potter had immediately taken over as leader, motioning for Ginny Weasley and Lovegood to continue on. He had turned to her, and hissed, "In case you hadn't noticed, Bulstrode, she's not talking to anyone at the moment." Millicent glanced at the floor. "Do you mind if I talk to _you_, then?" The Boy Who Lived was a bit thrown by that, and she hid a smile. "Fine," he said, but Ron Weasley and Longbottom stayed at his side, "Talk." She had looked tensely at the Slytherin table then. "We'd like to help," she said, turning back and staring him in the eye. "We know you are working on a plan, and we want to be a part of it." His eyes had gotten cold at that, and Weasley had scowled. Longbottom looked as suspicious as Potter, though his confusion showed. "We?" he asked. Millicent had glanced at the table again, and this time they stood. Everyone. Not just the seventh years, but the younger years too, that were in on it, and even a few that _weren't_ in on it, but had surmised what was going on. "Why?" Weasley asked, recovering first. This was the hardest part: telling the truth. "Because," she said. "Because we owe Hermione."

_  
She's fallen behind._

HERMIONE

She caught the declaration right before Luna and Ginny ushered her through the doors. They _owed _her. They owed her. _They owed her?_ What the bloody hell did they think they owed her _for_? She hadn't done anything worth being owed over. She didn't deserve anyone's debt. She hadn't even been able to see that she was putting her family in danger. The proof of her incompetence had been printed in black and white for all to see, passed around the school like influenza, and they still thought she was someone _worthy_, someone _heroic_, maybe? Fuck that. She was just another failure who had accidentally fooled a few people into thinking otherwise.

_She can't find her place._

PROFESSOR BINNS

"Hermione," he whispered. As a ghost, he was rather the same sort of professor he had been when he was living: bad. Despite what his students thought, he knew this, and simply allowed the children to believe he didn't see them napping or writing notes or finishing homework in his class. And for the few that managed to pay attention through the monotonous voice, he added a few extra details to his lectures that had never been printed in any book. Hermione had always seemed to notice those facts, and would copy them into her notes with large stars around them. For someone who everyone underestimated, he treasured those little moments where her eyes would light up and she would write with fervour. There had been a staff meeting scheduled for that day for some time, and so he floated toward the ceiling, and carefully peeked through the fireplace of the staff room. No-one noticed his head in the dancing flames, watching their body language, catching the hushed tones and the worried looks. He was strongly reminded of the Elf and Centaur War of 1732. They had fought together against wizards in much the same way. In fact, the spell the centaurs and elves had used to protect their forest was possibly functional against Voldemort. He drifted into the wall, then floated into the staff room as if he hadn't just been eavesdropping. Everyone was startled for a moment by his appearance, but then went back to their discussion. He drifted to one end of the room, and summoned the few sparks of magic from his incorporeal form, making the quill on a nearby table move across a piece of spare parchment. He nodded to Headmistress McGonagall when she spotted the movement behind her colleagues, and glanced at him. He knew she would figure out what to do. As for him, he had a dead friar to wager with.

_  
She's losing her faith._

HERMIONE

Everyone was talking. Professor McGonagall had found some spell or another that would help against Voldemort. Of course no-one talked about it _in front_ of her, as if not speaking were contagious or something, but they certainly talked when they didn't know she was around. She had gone to sleep on the couch the night before. Despite Ginny's care in taking her up to her dorm and putting her in bed, the redhead had not factored in the house's annoyance with the charm or a fifth year's determination in removing it. She woke in the early morning to the sounds of voices. "- think the Slytherins will do it?" Harry asked. Do what, she wondered sleepily. "They _are_ saying they owe her," Ginny pointed out, and Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out that she didn't deserve to be owed anything. "But is that enough?" asked…Neville. Wow. His voice had deepened since she'd heard it last. "It won't work if everyone doesn't have the same motivations, and I don't think owing her a debt is the same as caring about her." That was odd. Who were the ones caring supposed to be? Ginny and them? …No. They would never willingly do _anything _with the Slytherins. There was a pause, during which Hermione assumed they were all nodding, then Ron started talking. "But really, why do we care about her?" He answered his own question. "Because we _owe_ her for being friends with us. …And anyway, the book was awfully vague. We don't know if we even have enough people to do it without the Slytherins. We _have_ to try. For Hermione, we have to try." There were a few murmurs of assent at that. Since when had Ron become rational? And why…what were they talking about? She had the urge to show herself, and ask just that, but Ginny interrupted her. "Speaking of killing Voldemort we won't get the chance if Hermione kills us first for making her late to Transfiguration." Their little meeting had broken up then, and left Hermione lost. Of all the reasons in the world…with all the effort they had been putting into this _Plan_…they were doing this for _her_?

_  
She's fallen from grace._

PANSY

"Hermione," she laughed. That morning her composure had almost slipped. She had barely managed to get to her room and on her bed, hangings yanked closed and hastily spelled, before she burst out laughing. Voldemort was such a complete idiot. In killing Hermione Granger's parents, he had meant to send the message: "You cannot stand up to me". But he would have been better off killing a Slytherin; then he'd only have the Slytherin house against him. As it was, a silent agreement had gone through all_ four_ houses to rally behind the practically-catatonic Gryffindor, and fight for this girl that he had dared to hurt. The Gryffindors looked at her and saw a warrior injured by the enemy. The Ravenclaws saw a tortured literatus. The Hufflepuffs saw one of their own to protect. The Slytherins were more confused, because despite their practice of not trusting anyone, they trusted Hermione, and saw her as an ally that they owed. It was strange to think about, but Hermione Granger had enormous power over Hogwarts as a whole, but had never wielded it until she couldn't – or wouldn't – even feed herself. And Hogwarts was bonding like it never had before. The Ravenclaws had spelled every door and window to reroute letters in or out that might contain information to help Voldemort, and were now working to reinforce Hogwarts' defenses. The Slytherins were weeding out the last of Voldemort's supporters within the school, removing surveillance spells that had been placed by belongings, and figuring out what Voldemort knew. It was a long and tedious practice, but no-one but the Slytherins had the skill set for it. Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors were practicing spells and combat maneuvers. Oh, yes… Tommy-boy Riddle was a fool.

_  
She's all over the place._

HERMIONE

Sometimes she heard whispers. Around the corner before she turned, inside a room before she entered. Not as if they were trying to hide it, but as if they forgot their topic once her presence distracted them. She had never paid attention before. Never cared about secrets or subterfuge. Never cared about…anything. For more than five months now she had been living in a fog. Now her thoughts were focused. She was almost as perceptive as normal, if not quite up to par otherwise. She heard the whispers now. She caught the mutters and worried looks that quickly gave way to determined ones. She wondered about the broken-off sentences and unusual loyalties. Yet still she cried, and hardly ate, and never spoke. But somewhere inside her, hidden deep, Hermione Granger was alive.

_  
She wants to go home, but nobody's home._

PROFESSOR VECTOR

"Hermione," she muttered. She and Minerva had had a talk about this. The crying, the worrying. No-one knew what the outcome would be, but they had to help in any way possible, Minerva had said. Everyone – the students and the teachers both – had to come together to fight. She had been working practically nonstop on the problem Padma Patil had given her, and she thought she almost had it. It would only take a few more steps, and she would be able to finish the spell. She drew another rune on the parchment, crossed it out. If only the chart would cooperate. This would work, she knew, but had she considered all the variables? She hadn't created something like this since university, and even then it hadn't been so complex. She rubbed her eyes. She would finish this tomorrow, first thing. Hermione didn't cry in class anymore, but nevertheless, seeing that blank face always seemed to make the professor more determined. A nice hot bubble bath was in order tonight, though, and stress-relievers were few and far-between in war, so she allowed her mind to drift to other things, like why in the world were the Slytherins working with the rest of them. They'd said as a whole that they owed Hermione, and were doing it for her, but it was still a bit disconcerting. Not that she'd ever bought into that whole "Slytherins are evil" thing, but she'd never seen Hermione do anything that would warrant them _owing _her. Amazing, the people the young woman had managed to befriend with no-one knowing. It made her wonder what other secrets were hidden in Hermione's mind.

_  
That's where she lies, broken inside._

HERMIONE

As time passed, she found herself sneaking out for a breath of fresh air in the middle of the night more and more often. The windows in the common room, unlike those upstairs in the dorm, had no spells on them to hinder spellwork nearby, so it was ridiculously simple to charm the vines beneath the sill into a ladder. While everyone else slept in their dorms, she would lay on the snow, make angels, or cry or scream far away where no-one could hear her. As the weeks past the snow melted, but during the two-, three-, or four-o'clock outings her breath still cast ghostly shapes in the air, and the icy chill still bit at her fingers. Wrapped in a cloak most would call insanely thin for this weather, she would climb the trees on the edge of the forest, or sit on the bank of the lake watching the ripples made by the giant squid and think about life, but each dawn found her seemingly asleep in the Gryffindor common room on the couch nearest the fire.

_  
With no place to go_

SNAPE

"Hermione," he thought. Nothing valuable had come out of Hogwarts in the six months since Granger's parents had been killed. No updates, no rumours, no plans, no thoughts, no questions that information could possibly be gleaned from. The first month there had been whispers, but nothing concrete. "Gryffindor tower is in mourning" and that sort of thing. Then five months ago, the correspondence had stopped. There were no Marked students – too much of a liability – but even the ones that were all _but_ Marked said nothing. The eyes and ears in Hogsmeade saw nothing, heard nothing. There had been no Hogsmeade visits since Dumbledore's death, and Harry Potter and gang had not once snuck out since the beginning of the year. The only owls to Hogsmeade from Hogwarts were orders for quills, parchment, Chocolate Frogs, and Licorice Whips. And if that wasn't startling enough, the Weasleys had suddenly disappeared three weeks ago. Overnight, Percy Weasley had quit his job, and Bill and Charlie had put in for transfers but vanished before the paperwork could be completed. Arthur had simply not shown up for work the next day, and rumour was that Lee Jordan was managing WWW alone. The Burrow was dark, and no-one in Ottery St. Catchpole had heard from them. Snape was worried. Lack of communication, disappearances of important figures…it seemed an awful lot like the calm before the storm.

_No place to go, to dry her eyes._

HERMIONE

She didn't understand what the fuss was about. The rush toward…something…that no-one was telling her about. The empty common room every evening, the curious stares of first years that followed her, the quiet confidence Ron had even when he was puzzling over a chess match, as if there was a barrier to be broken. The students from other houses that would skirt around the edges in the corridors, wander by and whisper something. The charmed notes flying in class, the teachers altering the curriculum. It was…anxiety, in spades, but hope. For some reason, it made her hopeful, too.

_Broken inside._

PROFESSOR SPROUT

"Hermione," she intoned. She focussed on her memories of the girl, chanting Latin under her breath. Hermione as a first year, hand stretching toward the plastic greenhouse ceiling. Ron Weasley said something cutting under his breath. The background skewed, blurred, and… Hermione as a fourth year, dancing with Viktor Krum. "Who would have guessed?" Minerva said, nudging her with an elbow and nodding toward Potter and Weasley. "That those two would be wallflowers?" she asked. "Certainly not me. But it does take longer for male mandrakes to mature…" Pomona smiled distractedly, and the memory drifted off, into… Hermione in the Headmistress' office. "My parents?" Her mouth was flat, her eyes hard; she already knew. The girl was too smart for her own good. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger …" Minerva said. "You will, of course, receive time off from your classes. You have our condolences." Madam Pomfrey smiled in a consoling manner. Pomona watched the girl's face. No-one expected her to take the time. They thought she would want to return quickly, get back to learning. "Of course, Professor." She choked on her words; tears were already welling up as she turned around and rushed out. The foreign words reverberated around the group, and the Herbology professor smiled.

_  
She's lost inside, _

HERMIONE

She had awoken in the middle of the morning, feeling lethargic and grimy, and found the letter next to her bed. The date at the top was 19 May 1997. She had started at that, wondering why she had a letter from tomorrow, but her Tempus spell told her that it was in fact 09:23, 22 May 1997. Feeling nauseas, she began the letter. "Hermione," it read, "It's called the Sleeping Beauty Charm – Professor Flitwick's idea. I'm sure you've figured it out by now, you always were the smartest, but when cast, it puts everyone in the designated area asleep for one week. Blaise and Padma and Professor Vector did something, I don't know what, that adapted it so it only affects you if you've taken a potion (he says they used something called Field Merging) …I don't understand half of it, but no matter. We had Dobby put it in the pumpkin juice last night, and made sure none of us drank any. I know what you must be thinking. 'Last night, I ate in the common room. You were the one that suggested it,' but that's because we wanted you to know what was going on before it was over, and we knew you would never let us do this if you found out before we left. You should be waking up sometime on the twenty-fifth. All the professors and seventh-years are gone, and quite a few of us sixth-years. Don't worry, we're just outside the castle, though you won't be able to get to us and we won't be able to see you. It's a ward Luna found – Hogwarts is invisible to everyone that isn't inside it, and no-one who can't see it can enter. About this time, Padma says you'll be wondering how we've managed to make these wards work. Well, they're drawing power from all of the students within the walls, and they're anchored to you. I know that must seem like such a betrayal of your confidence, that we anchored wards to you without your knowledge or permission, but please don't try to leave Hogwarts until the battle is over, and don't do anything more exerting than walking up and down stairs. Oh, and Blaise wants me to tell you that this is completely temporary, and that the wards will be removed as soon as Voldemort is dead. Which, hopefully, means sometime soon. Ron's just come in, and we've got to leave, the Death Eaters will be here soon, but please remember that we love you, all of us, and that we'll try our hardest to come back to you. Love, Ginny (and Padma, Luna, Blaise and Ron and everyone else)." Hermione laid back onto her pillow, and for once the tears wouldn't come, and she could only stare dry-eyed at what might be the last thing her friends would ever say to her.

_Lost inside. oh oh _

PROFESSOR FLITWICK

"Hermione," he pictured. He could see that much on the cake, in green writing. Green, but unlike the toxic green that shot toward him. The Death Eaters had begun to catch on, and as it came closer, he saw her. It was her twenty-first birthday, if the "Happy 21st!" on the oversized card beside her gave any indication. Her hair was plaited, and there were cake crumbs stuck to her lip as Ginny tried to talk her into something. "Just one more," the freckled girl said, grinning. There was a Muggle camera on the table at her elbow, and she kept glancing at it. "You said that three ago!" The older Hermione protested, but she was laughing and one tendril of curly hair was in her eyes as she rolled them. "We must document this for posterity," Ginny said, "which, of course, means loads of pictures!" Her smile broadened, as did those on the faces around her. Ron, Harry, Pansy, Seamus, Lavender, Blaise, Ernie and so many others. They cheered as Ginny handed the camera to an older Dean and lifted a piece of chocolate cake in her hand. "Oh no not the big-" Hermione objected, but the cake was already in her mouth and all over her face and the camera was flashing. "You know I'm going to get you back for this," she warned playfully as she wiped frosting her face with a napkin. "I fully expect it," Ginny said, and the group was laughing far away when he fell, and thought: It may not be true – now or ever – but this fight, everything, even now…this fight is for the _possibility_, and if we get that, I can't regret it.

_  
She's lost inside_

HERMIONE

The windows looked like fog. Like there was nothing outside of this building, but she would sit for ages, staring out it anyway. She understood that she couldn't try to leave, and so she didn't, but Ginny hadn't explained how they would be able to get back in. The Sleeping Beauty charm lasted a week – did that mean the ward would stay up for a week, as well? She worried about them, out there. What would happen if their Plan didn't work? For half a second she had believed that there was no way they could have figured it out without her help, but in the next half she understood that that was just vanity. Being tops in class didn't really mean much; she understood that, after months of ignoring everything to do with academics. She wondered what her grades were, for the first time in months, and then if perhaps they had slipped some variant of Pepper-Up into what they had her drink. She spent her days with no-one for company, and on the second one lay in a bath until long after her fingers and toes became shriveled, washing her hair five times. She entered the dorms of the younger years, and saw their chest rise and fall with no care for the time passing. Time seemed to crawl, and though she couldn't figure out why, the time when she should be most angry, most afraid, the only emotions she could tap into were peace, serenity, optimism.

_Lost inside. oh oh _

VOLDEMORT

"Hermione," he heard. Hermione? Hermione Granger… He had ordered her parents killed almost a year ago as a message to Harry Potter and his friends. They had fought, Lucius had said. As if they could. They had fought, and died too quickly to be any fun. And now, well … Obviously his message had not gotten across. And then suddenly, like blinking, he understood it all. He understood to his horror every mistake he had ever made and exactly how it was a mistake, and he understood what Harry's power was, and he understood that he was dying.

_  
Ohhh..._

HERMIONE

Harry had come to her the night after he killed Voldemort. He'd skipped the celebrating to see her. She was in bed, reading. Slowly, she had managed to start reading again. Nothing big, nothing sentimental – the copy of Moby Dick that her parents had given her for her eleventh birthday still sat untouched in her trunk, and she still cried every time she saw it – but trashy little fictions about wizards that miscast spells and accidentally bonded themselves to their enemies she could handle. She'd even managed to laugh a little. He had sat on the edge of the duvet and told her the story. How he had broken into Voldemort's mind in the last moment before he died, and sent a message: This is for Hermione. How the papers were saying "the power the Dark Lord knows not" was his ability to love, and how he knew that wasn't true. It was his luck, he said. His luck in befriending someone worth fighting for. Someone that everyone would fight for. He had smiled at her then, and hugged her, and whispered in her ear that she deserved it. She didn't believe it; she certainly didn't deserve a friend like Harry – but she'd nodded anyway, because it would make him happy. And he'd smiled again, and told her that everyone was waiting downstairs. Ron, and Ginny, and Luna and Neville, and Blaise and Millicent and Pansy and Ernie and Parvati and Lavender and all the professors and even more people than he knew, and they all wanted to see her. And she'd stood, and sat her book down, and he led her home.

---

A/N [4: And that's it. It really doesn't make much sense and at this point I have no idea how it even came into being, but I'm sure it serves me right. If you liked it enough to, feel free to click the periwinkle button. It's actually an oddly attractive colour, isn't it?


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